


Uneven Hours

by Scmsunny



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Late Night Conversations, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 03:13:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17737913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scmsunny/pseuds/Scmsunny
Summary: Carlos hasn't been home due to obligations at work.





	Uneven Hours

Cecil's eyes watered. One could only be around chemical fumes for so long without experiencing side effects, after all. Honestly, the familiar burn was comforting- It reminded Cecil of times spent with Carlos, watching his husband perform super scientific experiments in his lab, the chemical vapors escaping into every crook and crevice possible. He was not with his Carlos, however.

He was at work, in his studio, participating in another segment of _Cooking Stuff With Earl Harlan_.

Cecil stared at the heaving mixture Earl had put together. It was impressive to be sure; Cecil could already see the foaming purple bubbles starting to form within the translucent batter, and the freshly brined goat ligaments beginning to dissolve. All that was left was to place said uncooked souffle into the oven and wait for it to bake, which Earl did. Cecil held his breath. He might not know a whole lot about baking, but even he knew how dangerous this part of the souffle process was. One wrong move and they would be blown to smithereens. Earl, on the other hand, knew exactly what he was doing, and so the 25 minutes of baking time went off without a hitch.

The chocolate dessert was delicious, and only bit them 19 times- a new record in Cecil's experience.

Earl left.

The traffic was told.

The weather played on.

Cecil signed off, gathered his things, and tramped through the streets of Night Vale to his apartment. Carlos wasn't home yet. Cecil had expected this, as his pretty husband's scientific ventures took a huge chunk of time, but it was still disappointing.

He made dinner.

He ate dinner.

He cleaned up after dinner.

Still no Carlos, but he made sure to leave a serving of pasta and broccolini out for him.

Cecil sat at the kitchen table, thumbing through various news reports, trying to put together a rough outline that tomorrow's show would follow. Unfortunately, It had been an uncharacteristically slow week in Night Vale, so there wasn't much. Only three deadly occurrences in seven days, for heaven's sake! Not that there was any such thing as heaven. Or angels, for that matter.

There were some stories that had the words CINNAMON HYPOGLYCEMIA ROCK scrawled over them in blue crayon. This meant station management wanted these included _no matter what_. Cecil shuddered to think of the things that would happen if they were not included.

He finished his task, and double checked to sure no mistakes had been made. None had. He sighed and packed the final draft into his Lebanese carpet bag, to be toted off to work the next morning.

He watched the clock that hung in their kitchen, watched the minutes tick away, all of them spent alone. Only after half an hour had come and gone did he finally get up from the table and into bed, too tired to wait for Carlos to get home. Feeling defeated, he sunk into ill-begotten slumber, the only cure for the panging anxiety in his stomach. Unconsciousness was often his only outlet, the only thing to keep him sane on these baying nights.

He wanted to whisper sweet dreams to his Carlos. He wanted Carlos to snuggle into his chest and say it back like he usually did. He wanted them to pretend to sleep in the void we call night-time together. Most of all, Cecil wanted Carlos home.

It seemed like the scientists' work had tripled overnight. A few weeks ago, Carlos arrived home at five thirty each day and Cecil at six O'clock. They technically got off work at the same time, but Cecil's commute time took longer.

Lately, this had changed. Carlos often got home after Cecil had long been asleep, if at all. More than once, Carlos had just slept in the lab, as by the time he was done with his various projects it had been much too late to catch a bus, and he felt too tired for driving home to be a safe option.

Cecil didn't complain. He understood the importance of science, after all, and would never even think about trying to get in the way of his love's endeavors, but he was tired. Tired of being too tired to stay up and see his husband.

Cecil hoped that Carlos's schedule would calm down soon. Maybe then, they could finally be with each other properly again.

 

 

     Carlos felt dead. Only the faint thrumming of his pulse reminded him otherwise.

It had been a long day at the Laboratory, a long day in general. He was tired, hungry, and his eyes bloodshot and watery, from the cat dander he had been exposed to that day. He had been trying to examine the DNA of floating versus non-floating felines. No significant differences had been found yet.

He stumbled through the door of their apartment, not bothering to try and stay quiet. He tossed his work boots to the ground, threw his jacket into the closet, placed his satchel next to Cecil's bag.

He stomped to the kitchen and paused. There was a plate, wrapped in aluminum foil, with CARLOS scrawled on it in black sharpie. Underneath his name, the words _I love you_ had been written.

He carefully unwrapped the plate, revealing the meal his sweet husband had prepared for him.

And it was this simple thing, this loving gesture that completely undid any composure Carlos had previously been holding onto. He began to cry. Softly at first, but soon, huge, choking sobs left his chest heaving, his cheeks drowning, and his tongue wailing.

There was a noise behind him. He turned, saw a half-awake Cecil, and completely lost it. Cecil stopped. "Honey?" He asked, and Carlos knew what Cecil meant. _Are you alright? What's wrong? Can I do something, anything? I love you._  

Carlos loved Cecil, too. Very, very much.

"I'm sorry," He choked out. "I'm so sorry. I'm never here. I don't remember the last time I really talked to you. We don't even get to have _dinner_ together anymore."

Cecil paused, collected his thoughts, his words, tried to string together some phrase of comfort. "You're right," He began, "You aren't home as much as either of us would like. I miss you. I miss you so much, even though you haven't gone away. _But_ ," He took a breath. Exhaled. "I know the work you do is important. You know the work you do is important. It's _s_ _cience_ , after all."

Cecil sat across from Carlos and took his hands into his own. "Sweetie, It'll be alright. Work will settle down soon, and you'll be able to come home at a normal hour again. In the meantime: You'll be fine. I'll be fine. We'll be fine. I promise."

And Carlos nodded. He nodded and he nodded. And Cecil nodded too. It was the two of them, hands clasped together, crying, nodding, at four in the morning, over a plate of linguini and vegetables. It would be alright.

 

 

    The morning brought sunrise and oatmeal and hurried kisses goodbye.

 _I'll see you tonight_ , One of them would say.

 _Yes, you will,_ The other would respond.

And Cecil went to the Night Vale Radio Station, Carlos went to his lab, and the faceless old woman who secretly lives in their home stayed and pasted thin slices of ham to the lightbulbs.

Today was better. Today was worse. It was better because there had been a release of emotion, and a promise of a future with a different outlook. It was worse because the problem since identified, was at the front zone of their minds all day, and the anticipation for the ending of the trouble was a killer.

The day would drag, drag on and on and on until finally, release from day jobs- though, in truth, both Carlos and Cecil were much to enveloped in their work to call them mere 'jobs', let alone ' _day_ jobs'.

A way of life? Yes.

Not _job_.

Home was good. Home was... Home, they supposed. Nothing really fancy: Mostly the bare essentials in terms of furniture, plus a few odds and ends to decorate or protect from vague yet menacing government agencies and the like.

Cecil loved it. Not the place itself, but what it represented. Tidbits of his own life mixed with those from Carlos's life, which in turn joined with tidbits from _their_ life.

A perfect melody of people and place and thing, a home. The absolute definition of a noun: The ones you love, the things you love, all in a place you love _because_ of the ones and the things.

Carlos was home today. Not right away, not until hours after Cecil returned, but still. They sat down and ate together. Well, not together- Cecil had already eaten by this time. But they sat together, they talked together, and a lack of immediate food in front of Cecil did not change the connection of conversation and presence.

They both harbored secret grins and had a collective secret thought:

This is good. Love is good. And perhaps, though unfair, even life was good.


End file.
